


Sawyer and Sayid: Version 2

by Jaye_Voy



Series: Sawyer and Sayid Parallels [2]
Category: Lost
Genre: Adult Content, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Rope Bondage, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6583240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaye_Voy/pseuds/Jaye_Voy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sawyer and Sayid learn to deal with each other, Version 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Taking a Shot

**Author's Note:**

> An experiment in tone. Two Sawyer/Sayid series, one harsher than the other.  
> The stories in this series: Taking a Shot and Settling Scores  
> The stories in the parallel series: Reparation and Consideration  
> Originally written in 2005. Although there are some tweaks, the stories' contents (and its flaws) are mostly intact.  
> Lost and all related characters and concepts are the property of JJ Abrams et al. No infringement is intended or profit made. This is NC-17 for adult themes, language, violence (including bondage/torture) and sex.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sawyer gets more than he bargained for when he takes his revenge on Sayid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set some time after Sayid's return from being held captive by the Frenchwoman. No Sayid/Shannon.

Sawyer hated the taste of regret. Acid bile in the back of his throat, burning anger and sharp sorrow.

He just ignored the underlying blood-metal tang of fear, put there since before he was supposed to know what choices were. And consequences.

Sometimes he wondered how he would have turned out, if those endless sunny scorching blue-sky summer days of tadpoles and swimming holes had gone on the way they were supposed to. To Halloween costumes and Christmas presents, paper routes and junior varsity, sweetheart dances and college diplomas.

If his parents---and the rat-bastard who'd proved so goddamn well that mamas could be whores and daddys could be killers---hadn't fucked up his life so royally that he didn't see much reason not to fuck it up even more by walkin' down that same road to hell without even bothering with the good intentions.

He figured he'd've ended up some plain-stupid swaggering prick like his old man, with a cheatin' bitch of a wife and a snot-nosed kid, just as ripe for the grift.

But he mostly thought that when the shit-can of his life came back up to choke him like a plate of bad barbecue. When the stink of cigarettes and whiskey and some fool woman's perfume made his stomach heave and he had to find some dark alley and puke up all his regrets.

Then he'd rinse his mouth out with another drink and spit the vague notion of goin' straight and narrow right onto the blistered tar, and stroll back into whatever shell of a man he was playing that time around.

Except on this goddamned fucked-up Twilight Zone of an island, he didn't have any part to play. He was just Sawyer, and the only thing he knew about this loser was how to spend easy-earned cash on whiskey and women and whatever the hell else he wanted until the money ran out.

His skin itched with the restlessness---it was long past time he'd've usually moved on to the next town, the next target. The next paper cut-out Bad Boy Ken Doll he would play to charm and smarm a new mark into his bed and his trap.

But the pricks and the prudes in this shithole of a '70s sitcom nightmare knew him already. Knew him too well, as an asshole who wouldn't play fair or play nice without a gun to his head. Or a knife to his face.

There was no place to hide here. And coconut milk and cave water and even his hoarded stash of hooch didn't do shit to wash out the taste of regret.

What he needed...well, some might say all he needed to be redeemed was the love of a good woman. Or Queen of Spades Kate, the closest thing he was going to come to one. Sometimes he agreed, joining JackRabbit as another knight in tarnished armor vying for her hand. Or whatever other body part he could get a good grope of.

But the taste of her kiss wasn't all soda pop and Sunday picnic by the river. He enjoyed her, no doubt about it...but too much of it had been satisfaction at being the first one to score.

No, what he needed was a big swig of satisfaction. And he knew just where to fill his flask with that heady brew.

That's why he was crouching in the jungle in the steamy afternoon green, a rope in one hand and Doctor Spock's straight-edge razor in his back pocket.

Waiting for his prey.

***************

He couldn't hear Sayid coming, which bugged the hell out of him. When their wayward nomad first returned home from his jungle walkabout, he'd been more elephant than elegant, tramping and limping through the brush.

But now Sayid's head and leg had healed, and he'd regained the silent-stalker tread that screamed ex-military even more than bamboo shafts, taut pecs, and bulging biceps.

And the goddamned arrogant tilt of that curly black head. That's what really set Sawyer off on this little mission of revenge.

When Sayid had first crawled back to CaveCamp, Sawyer'd been all ready to forgive---well, at least forget. Even he could admit he'd been a shit about the inhalers.

And exactly *why* he'd pulled that little stunt, was something he didn't bother thinking about.

But he'd showed them all, got proof positive that the holier-than-thou Iraqi was just a hotheaded SOB who when push came to shove would play meaner and dirtier than the lowest snake.

Even before the blood had dried, Sayid had turned tail and run. But Sawyer'd never really believed it was shame that drove Sayid away from their Home Sweet Island Home. Could've knocked him over with a feather when Soldier Boy had come right out and admitted he never planned to come back. It threw Sawyer off-guard, threw him off-stride at the time.

Made him forget about spending some stolen moments using Sayid as a payback punching bag. And when the moment passed Sawyer figured that was the end of it.

Except he'd spent day after day watching Sayid settle back in, charming Sticks into helping with the crazy French bitch's half-assed maps.

And the burn of bile rose in Sawyer's throat at how the sheik was welcomed back with open arms. No what-for about his demonstration of the more creative uses for bamboo. Not a peep from the peeps about Sawyer almost getting his ticket to the pearly gates courtesy of Ali's knife.

So he'd sat and stewed, temper and regret makin' him think about how much he wanted to knock Sayid down a peg or two. After all, he'd told Sawyer to take a shot if he wanted it.

Now, Sawyer wanted it. And he was damn well going to take it.

***************

Sawyer stepped out onto the path, easy as you please, stopping Sayid in his tracks. It irked him that Captain Falafel didn't look even a mite surprised. "Howdy," Sawyer drawled.

"Did you want something, Sawyer?" Sayid folded his arms.

Sawyer couldn't figure out how that goddamn Iraqi managed it---the guy was three inches shorter, and Sayid *still* managed to look down at him. On him. It made his fists clench, the rope biting into his palm. But he kept his smirk in place. He knew how it got under Soldier Boy's skin. "Well, now, I figure we got ourselves more than a bit of unfinished business, don't you?"

Dark eyes flicked to Sawyer's face, his hands, down and up and then into a quick perimeter sweep. He could almost hear Sayid mentally assembling a plan to take Sawyer out: Rabbit punch to the face, roundhouse kick, hip check, head lock...but then Sayid shrugged and spread his hands, conceding. "You want your shot...take it." His chin lifted, eyes cool. "But remember, you only get one."

Arrogant bastard. Sawyer could feel his jaw clench as he snarled, "Then I'd better make it count." He gestured toward the little-used side path he'd been waiting on. Sayid just shrugged once more and turned to lead the way deeper into the jungle.

They didn't have to go far---Sawyer'd already picked his spot. He suddenly reached forward and shoved Sayid hard to the left, into a little strand of trees. As the other man stumbled into the clearing, Sawyer grabbed one wrist and slipped a loop over it, pulling tight and twisting Sayid's arm behind his back.

"Right this way," Sawyer said with mock graciousness, bundling them both over to a tree with a solid branch jutting above their heads. He used his free hand to toss the other end of the rope over the bough, then caught it. He released Sayid's bound wrist and grabbed the other one. Yanked on the rope to jerk Sayid's left arm straight up, lifted the other and slipped it into the loop on the other end of the rope. A few quick twists and tightened knots and Sayid was secured, balancing on the balls of his feet, trying to relieve the pull on his wrists and arms.

Sawyer circled around to stand in front of Sayid, pleased at the sudden wariness in the other man's eyes. But then Sayid tossed his head, trying to shift tumbled curls out of his face, and lifted an eyebrow. The gesture irked Sawyer as much as if he'd heard a crisply delivered, "So what have you got?"

Sawyer reached out and set his hands at the other man's waist. With taunting slowness, he rolled the gray tank top along Sayid's torso, past his head and partway up his bound arms, then bunched and tucked the garment behind Sayid's neck. "Now to be sure, I'm a Southern boy, born and bred. It'd be worse than spittin' in church to rip such fine cotton."

Dark eyes narrowed, but Sayid simply replied, "Thank you so much for your consideration."

"Oh, I think you'll be surprised at how much 'consideration' I've given this, Ali," Sawyer taunted as he strolled to another tree, lifting a bottle of alcohol he'd earlier set near its base. Uncapping it, he returned to stand in front of his captive. "I'd offer you a swig, but I don't think you desert rats put much stock in the devil's brew."

Sayid snorted and rolled his eyes as Sawyer lifted the whiskey toward his own lips. But he halted before his mouth touched the glass, turned his wrist and swiftly spashed Sayid's left side with the liquid.

"What the---what are you playing at, Sawyer?" Sayid was frowning and fiddling with his bonds, glancing up at his bound wrists and back down to where beads of amber liquid made paths down his torso to wet the lowslung waistband of his pants.

"I guess you could say I'm playing doctor," Sawyer murmured. He stared at the hypnotic shine and slide of the whiskey, glistening against bronze skin. Smooth, unmarked...for the moment. Then he shook himself out of it, glancing up quickly to check his knots were holding before pulling out the straight razor and snapping it open.

Sawyer could see his captive audience was captivated by the razor's gleam, wide brown eyes now following his every move. He slowly poured alcohol over both sides of the blade, flicking away the excess drops before setting the bottle down. Giddy with the rush of power in his veins, his breaths went shallow, practically salivating in anticipation.

Hand steady and sure in practiced memory...

He heard Sayid's gasp as he delicately set the very tip of the razor between waist and hip, over the skin shielding the shallow pad of fat that would be love handles on a heavier man. He traced a thin line inch by inch, following the curve of muscle back to front. Watched the tiny drops of blood bead and rest, a line of rubies gleaming.

Sayid let out a long hiss, and the muscles in his stretched arms bunched as his fingers clenched.

It hurt like a sonofabitch, Sawyer knew. Stinging start that only got worse, like a paper cut, teeth-gritting pain that never settled into ache because the salt of sweat made nerves jolt and uncautious movement pulled at the skin.

He was a little impressed that Sayid stayed so quiet. But mostly anger mixed up with annoyed as he started on his next slice. "Now don't be shy. No need to hold back on my account." But all he got from his victim was a choked sound deep in the throat. Frustration tightened Sawyer's hand on the handle, but he kept the cut precise, drawing a second only slightly bloodier line to parallel the first.

Wondered why the expected flood of satisfaction had dammed up somewhere inside his head to let through only a trickle of uncertainty.

This was supposed to make Sawyer feel better. Vindicated. In control. He felt the crease between his eyebrows deepen, mouth flattening as he grimly slashed a third line, the tail end a little crooked as the razor slipped deeper before lifting away. "Goddamnit," he growled, glaring, lips drawn back, teeth bared. He reached his free hand to yank Sayid's head up. Madder'n hell and not sure why.

Sayid's cheeks were wet, sweat mixed with tears that he was still trying to blink away. He was panting, nostrils flared and mouth half-open, but the way his Adam's apple moved told Sawyer he was probably still swallowing groans.

Sayid shook his head again, trying to throw Sawyer's hand off, but Sawyer just tightened his grip. He could sense when Sayid gave up, shifting his bound arms instead to wipe his eyes, one at a time, against the shirt straps still wrapped around his biceps. Then Sayid cleared his throat, and his voice was low and thick as he said, "It is not going to work."

Startled, Sawyer stepped back, dropping his hands as he stared narrowly into Sayid's calm gaze. "What?"

Sayid glanced at the bloodied razor, then met Sawyer's eyes. "I do not understand why you are doing this, but I will not play your game."

He paused, clearly trying to relax into the pain that Sawyer knew was throbbing with each pulsebeat of blood still rising to the broken skin. Then Sayid continued, "You want me to shout for the others, so they will come and see that you are as bad as they believe. So you will be a pariah once more. So no one will expect better of you...so *Kate* will not think well of you. So you will be safe." 

Sayid lifted his chin, determination clear on his face. "But you will not trick me again into helping you hurt yourself."

The bark of startled laughter that Sawyer gave was part reflex. Automatic tactic to divert. That cut a little too close to the bone---even if Sawyer hadn't *really* planned it that way.

But he had to admit it might've looked a mite suspicious to an Iraqi bastard way too full of himself. Who'd notice things like how much closer they were to "civilization" than Sayid and Jack's cozy den of torture.

Trust the little Arab shit to read too much into things like that. And into things he really didn't know fuck-all about, like Sawyer.

Well, he could fix that misapprehension---yeah, he knew words that had more than four letters and one syllable---easily enough. This time the laugh that fell out of his mouth was as mocking as his tone. "Yeah, right, HurleyBurley and Dr. Sun, PlantMedicineWoman to the rescue."

He stepped into Sayid's space once more, swapped the razor to his left hand and deliberately wrapped his right around Sayid's wounds to squeeze a little reminder of exactly who was in charge here. He whispered, "If I wanted you to scream, boy, sure as shit you'd be howling 'til the moon came up and sank back down again."

Sayid's lips stretched tight into a grimace, and his eyes screwed shut with pain until Sawyer let go. Then the Iraqi slumped a moment, head dropped forward, shuddering, catching his breath.

But when the dark face lifted, Sawyer's stomach clenched at what lay under the pain dulling the brown eyes: Sadness mixed with a knowledge that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Sayid deliberately looked down at the cuts Sawyer had made, then back up to say matter-of-factly, "I believe you. Your work is impressive indeed. Painful, but apparently designed to seal without stitches, and even unlikely to scar. You show real talent...or experience."

Sawyer flinched when Sayid's eyes and voice softened. "Who made you learn so well and so much about pain, Sawyer? Or did you perhaps teach yourself?"

"Why you fucking---!" Sawyer lurched forward, mindless, fists raised to strike the bastard who dared *pity* him. Who guessed far too easily what Sawyer had tried to hide for most of his life. No thought 'cept to shut that goddamn mouth before one more word---

Only thing stopped him was Sayid's sudden blank-eyed terror as he instinctively cringed away from Sawyer. Away from the fists about to strike his face---and the forgotten razor clutched in one that would've probably carved a bloody stripe a mile wide if Sayid hadn't flung himself back out of range, body a desperate bow straining away from Sawyer, hands pulling at the rope.

"Fuck!" Sawyer dropped to a crouch, shaking, flung the razor down. Clenched his fingers to hide the tremors he couldn't seem to stop. He'd almost...whether he'd just meant to teach Sayid a lesson or this truly was some fucked-up unconscious plot to remind himself why he wasn't fit for...whatever he'd *meant* to do, losing control wasn't part of the plan. He understood all too well now how the knife might've slipped on Torture Sawyer Day.

He uncurled his fingers and ran his hands through his hair, trying to figure out what to do. A quick glance at Sayid's worried gaze made his lip curl. The stupid fuck all bloody from Sawyer's first round of razorfest was lookin' way too much like Freckles did the day she figured out who wrote the letter to "Mr. Sawyer". Knowing Sayid was feeling the same way, well, *that* was a situation there was no way in hell Sawyer would just let pass by.

Because the thought of being pitied left a taste even more bitter than regret.

Still squatting, Sawyer tilted his head back, elbows resting on his knees, and let half-slitted eyes mosey on down Sayid's body, deliberately skipping the gashes in the man's side. Maybe...

No doubt about it, Mr. Ex-Military was a looker. All taut and sultry honey-golden with a line of curly black from chest to waist and pointing the way down low. Probably grew the beard after learnin' the hard way he was just a little too pretty, especially on patrol for weeks with nothin' but camels and horny colleagues for company.

The sudden twitch of interest from Sawyer's cock brought to mind an interesting tidbit: He'd never actually seen Sayid's chest before. Because the man certainly liked his privacy. He was almost...religious about it, matter of fact.

Sawyer felt a smile grow on his face, and knew it was the kind that would've sent Little Red Riding Hood screaming all the way home. "I been goin' 'bout this all wrong, Ali," Sawyer purred as he lazily rose to his feet, unbuttoning his shirt. "Why, the GI Joes in those prison Polaroids already got you desert divas all figured out."

He felt Sayid's wary gaze tracking him until he strolled behind his captive. He slid in close, pressing skin to skin. Ignored the way Sayid stiffened and let his arms glide around Sayid's waist, fingers walking to the man's fly. He leaned in to whisper, "You guys got a bigger hangup 'bout faggots than Fred Phelps."

Practiced fingers quickly undid Sayid's button and zipper, slid into the waistbands of pants and boxers. Sawyer nipped Sayid's ear. "So unless you call in the cavalry right now, hot stuff, we're gonna see how well you handle some time with a gen-u-ine bi-sexual."

Sayid's chin tilted up as he set his shoulders, silently staring straight ahead.

Arrogant bastard to the end, then. Sawyer hesitated one more moment, then pushed Sayid's clothes down around his ankles. Felt his own cock swell as he slid his hands up calves and thighs, fine black hairs tickling his fingers.

He shuffled back a bit to take in the scenery as he unfastened his own jeans. Sawyer was an ass man. Always had been. He was honest about it---he didn't give a shit if the sweet cheeks he got his hands on came with a cock or a cunt.

And he had to admit that he was looking at one mighty fine derriere. Just the kind that made him hot and hard and happy to take one hell of a ride.

He slapped his palms onto Sayid's ass, gettin' himself a double handful. Squeezin', slidin', mapping out the territory in his own sweet time. Waitin' for Mr. High-and-Mighty to jerk away, cry Uncle Sam---and let Sawyer win.

But stubborn stuck to Sayid like stink on a pig. And Sawyer was gettin' mighty tired of that. So he figured it was time to up the ante and slid some fingers into the warm crack of that sweet ass.

Hell, by now Sawyer was more horny than angry, so this was a win-win situation no matter which way it played.

Shifted his hands to use his thumbs to spread the crack a little wider. Got ready to give this desert-bred bitch a poke that would reach the rod Sayid'd had jammed up his ass from the minute they met...

"Is this really the lesson you wish to teach me, Sawyer?" Sayid asked quietly.

Shit. He had to give the guy props, though. That was pure genius on Sayid's part, makin' Sawyer stop right before his cock forced home. Makin' him think, which nearly always shot Sawyer's plans straight to hell.

But the guy had a point. And not just the dickhead about to be shoved where the sun don't shine.

Sawyer'd butt-fucked a few colts and fillies in his time. And yeah, in the early days, he hadn't been too careful. Before makin' a habit of keeping lube and condoms in his back pocket and stickin' to folks whose tests came back whistle-clean like his own.

But of course he'd only brought the necessities on this aftertoon's Impossible Mission. Who the fuck would've prepared for *this*? And hell, he'd never been a Boy Scout anyway. Still, if the bottom---pun intended---wasn't begging for it'd probably hurt like a sonofabitch. And did Sawyer really want blood on his dick as well as his hands?

Shit, he was goin' soft, no doubt about it. "Ah fuck," Sawyer muttered to himself as he bypassed the puckered hole and instead pressed his cock along Sayid's crack and between his thighs. Sawyer thrust, then leaned in again to hiss into Sayid's ear, "Sorry, sweetheart, looks like we're not goin' all the way on the first date."

He only got a grunt for his trouble. Sawyer didn't really care, though. He picked a lazy rhythm, one hand on Sayid's right hip keeping the man in place, the other taking time to feel Sayid up---and down, and wherever the hell he pleased.

Could tell by the change in Sayid's breathing Sawyer was getting some reaction. He grinned to himself at the thought of the super-uptight Iraqi getting madder'n madder at being groped like sweet Virginia her first time in the back seat.

But as his own blood kept heatin' into the buzz and the burn---and damn, any way a cock could get close to a pretty ass like this just plain did a body good---he began to think Sayid might be enjoyin' this little walk on the wild side. Omar was making soft noises in his throat that were...shit, that made Sawyer want to hump faster, press closer---or maybe even get some crazy-fool notion about a second date. A real one.

So he figured he'd do the gentlemanly thing and give Sayid a good old-fashioned reach-around. He let his fingers do the walking, down that center line of curly dark markers, past pecs and abs and bellybutton and into the sub-continent of cock.

Sawyer froze when he reached a dick limper'n an old hound dog on a hot August day.

Shitfuckdamn he'd been played for a fool by a man tied to a tree. Turnabout may be fair play, but it still stung like a sonofabitch. 'Cause Sawyer could taste the regret, and there wasn't near enough anger in it.

He started to pull away, but was suddenly stopped by a warm hand laid over his and another sliding into his jeans and wrapping around his right butt cheek. Holding him in place as Sayid settled back onto his heels, letting Sawyer's cock just a little bit deeper.

They both held still a moment, just breathing.

Then Sayid turned his face partway toward Sawyer, eyelashes a tiny caress against Sawyer's skin each time Sayid blinked. "It is unlikely I would be aroused in this situation, Sawyer." Sayid shifted his right hand, and the rope still dangling from Sayid's wrist prickled against Sawyer's hip. "It is simply...too familiar."

Sawyer heard a world of sadness and regret in those quiet tones. Didn't know what to say to that. This whole scenario had gone so far past what he was expectin' he didn't have one fucking clue anymore.

So he just went back to fucking. Nice and easy, sliding his hand up just enough to rest against Sayid's navel, pubic curls tickling his pinky. His thumb automatically stroked circles into satiny skin. Cock sliding between thighs that pressed around him just a little, just enough to make him groan.

Then Sawyer choked back a laugh as Sayid began to casually fondle Sawyer's ass, kinda sly like a guy going for a grope in the back of church just for the hell of it.

He felt oddly comforted, surrounding and surrounded by Sayid. But of course he hid it under the amused. "You could've gotten out of that rope anytime, couldn't you, you prick." He shivered as he felt the corner of Sayid's mouth curve against his skin.

A chuckle lay under Sayid's murmured, "Of course not. I am not so stupid as to *pretend* to be tied up while a man with a sharp object takes a swing at me." Then he thrust back a little, at the same time raking his nails lightly against the butt cheek he'd claimed.

Sawyer choked back a groan as his release flooded through him. Unexpected, not the white-hot jolt he was used to but a slow rise and glide like a raft drifting down the river, just on and on and on 'til it gently bumped into the mossy bank.

***************

He was left shuddering in the aftermath of the *strangest* sex he'd ever been privy to. He released his grip on Sayid and slumped back against the tree trunk, slidin' down to sit on the jungle floor, not carin' his pants were still splayed open and the knob of a tree root against his butt felt like it was trying to get to third base.

Didn't move beyond blinkin', even as he watched Sayid slide the rope off his wrist, bend over to grab his pants and hitch them up. But Sawyer *was* startled to see a bullet hole on Sayid's thigh, above the fading wound from Sayid's jungle jaunt. Must've been too distracted to notice before.

Then Sayid turned as he pulled his shirt back down, and the hair on Sawyer's nape prickled again at the look in those dark brown eyes. His cock tried to twitch again too---damn the Iraqi for bein' all kinds of man-pretty---but Sawyer just ignored that, 'cause he wasn't anywhere near sixteen anymore.

Sawyer just waited as Sayid squatted in front of him. Sayid's lips tightened a little on the way down, and he spared a quick glance at his wounded side before announcing, "I am going to take Jack's razor back to the caves, and your bottle in case I need disinfectant."

Lack of response made Sayid's expression go all confused. Sawyer gave him a snarky grin to help things alon', hoping to get back to the place where Sayid didn't look so damn *knowing*.

No such luck. Sayid's face went big-brown-eyed earnest. Sawyer couldn't help think back to when he'd come across Sayid resting in the caves.

He'd known then it would've been smarter to just forget payback on the too-damn-smart snake-wily Iraqi.

Should've taken his own advice and stayed the hell away. But even feeling exposed---and not just 'cause he still hadn't bothered to tuck in his dick---Sawyer didn't get any sense of the all-too-familiar back-of-the-throat burn of regret.

And who'd've figured that?

"Sawyer..." Sayid looked like he was running his tongue over the words still tucked in his mouth, checkin' to see if they tasted right. Then Sayid gave a sound of pure frustration. "I think---I think we have both become hard men, but I truly hope not cruel ones."

And the look he turned on Sawyer---what Sayid let him see---was a mix of hope and fear and pain and regret that Sawyer recognized all too well from when he used to own a mirror. Sayid's mouth quirked a little, as if he were surprised at his own daring at the next confession. "And I think we are both...sorry men, who want to be good ones."

Sawyer didn't know if he agreed. If he wanted to. But he somehow felt like he wasn't alone.

Not that he'd ever admit it. "Well, Abdul, I plumb don't know what to say. I'm touched."

"Not yet, you're not." The wicked smile that suddenly lit Sayid's face wouldn't've reassured Little Red Riding Hood one bit.

Then before he could blink, he had a relentless hand in the back of his hair and a spicy hot sliding gliding tongue in his mouth. Sawyer's jaw dropped, and he didn't know if he was just stunned or helping the process along as he was thoroughly and skillfully kissed---all too briefly.

Then Sayid let him go and leaned back. "You have had your shot, Sawyer. Understand, if you come after me again, I will retaliate." Heat and something more set dark eyes smoldering. "*That* way."

Then Sayid was on his feet, scooping up the bottle and razor and heading out of the clearing. Shoulders set in a determined line. Proud tilt to the curly black head.

Arrogant bastard. But this time Sawyer couldn't help but laugh.

Then he shook his head and licked his lips, deciding that the taste of Sayid was...possibility.

Mixed with the unfamiliar flavor of hope.

THE END


	2. Settling Scores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sawyer keeps his promise to come after Sayid.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after "Outlaws", but ignores het pairings. Sequel to "Taking a Shot".

Sonofabitch.

His stuff was still there. *All* there.

Sawyer sat back on his heels, taking in the scene. If forced to admit it (which, of course, he wouldn't be because there was nobody around to threaten him with bamboo splinters or pay him for his trouble with a little tongue action), he'd've said he was kinda surprised. Not a cigarette lifted, not a travel shampoo snatched, not a scrap of paper slipped into a pocket to scribble hopes dreams fears curses boat designs grocery lists on later.

The square of beach where he'd staked his claim was still pretty much a mess, the whole sort-of room looking like a wild boar had run through it. But not a single human footprint disturbed the scene of that midnight crime.

'Cept his own, of course.

"Well, well, well," Sawyer drawled to the uncaring air.

Looked like he owed Omar a visit. Or something.

***************

He found Mr. Always Gainfully Occupied Or At Least Looking Busy chopping wood, probably for the signal fires.

Unlike JackAss, who during his own stint earlier just stood as pretty as you please out in the middle of the goddamn jungle like some dunce with a "Kick Me" sign plastered to his back---or a target painted on it---GI Jamal had positioned himself so no one could sneak up on him.

Gotta love that military training, even if it only kicked in after Sayid'd been knocked upside the head and his triangulation whatever trashed. Since then, of course, they all knew somebody really *was* out to get them. Probably a lot of somebodies. Or something. And that bit of info turned mild paranoia from a kinda creepy personal quirk to a survival instinct that just might keep a body from becoming monster chow. Or worse.

Yeah, in this case, being cornered was a good thing. The only way anybody'd have a chance of making Sayid disappear was to go toe to toe, and if you were willing to take on a pissed-off Iraqi with an axe, well, you probably weren't too bright to begin with.

Or you had a death wish.

Sawyer knew Soldier Boy had heard him approach. The dark eyes had flashed up, IDing him with a glance that somehow also took in every other potential danger in the area. A few seconds later Sayid finished his swing. Glistening arc of flashing metal and sweaty bronze skin.

"Yo, Abdul," Sawyer called as he stepped closer. Too bad Paul Bunyan had kept his shirt on. Sawyer bet all those little black chest hairs were extra curly and slick with sweat. Nipples hard and salty and just beggin' to be licked.

Shit, Sawyer was horny just thinkin' 'bout it, and he hadn't even decided yet how to reward his desert sentry for keeping his stuff safe. If he was gonna get a hard-on every time they got close, maybe he should just stop wearing jeans around the sheik. Or at least go for the relaxed-fit ones. He leaned against a convenient tree, casually adjusting himself.

Captain Falafel set the axe aside before he leaned down to move the split pieces away from the makeshift frame used to break up the bigger logs. Brown eyes held a familiar sly gleam. "So, did you enjoy your camping trip as much as the boar did?"

Sawyer just gave a silent snarl that flashed a neon sign of "Shut up, you stupid fuck". At least, it'd better, 'cause he wasn't planning to share the frame-by-frame slideshow of that whacked walkabout anytime soon.

But he swapped in a frown as he watched Sayid's expression shift from playful to curious to concerned to that Great Stone Face the Iraqi never could manage to hold for long. 'Specially when Sawyer was pushing it, just to see how much it took before Sayid broke into a fire-eyed glare. The kind Sawyer always figured meant Sayid wanted to pound the shit out of him---or maybe just pound him.

Either way, Omar was one smokin' hot little piece when he got riled.

But the rest---it made Sawyer twitchy. Outside the con, he was used to people looking at him with either lust or disgust. Anything else got Sawyer's back up, like a tomcat off his turf.

And *that* just plain pissed him off. Why was a goddamn Republican Guard torturer showing *him* the softer side of Sears?

He shook off the unease and slouched, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. "Looks like nobody put their mitts on my stuff."

Black brows rose as Sayid busied himself adjusting the stack of wood. "So you have no reason to 'come after me', correct?" He shifted to fully face Sawyer. "Then why are you here?"

Sawyer shrugged, not yet sure how to play it. "Figured I owed you somethin' for your trouble."

"It was no trouble at all," Sayid replied as he crossed his arms. His very buff arms.

Sawyer licked his lips. The guy might be an uptight prick, but no doubt about it, he looked mighty tasty in that wifebeater. And even better out of it.

But Sawyer's little ride on the lust train derailed when Sayid continued, "For the record, the fact that your 'stash' is still intact is due entirely to our fellow castaways' lack of interest in your acquisitions." The Iraqi took his turn to shrug. "If they had wanted to clean you out, I would have done nothing to stop them."

Sawyer took a moment before replying, actually surprised. This was one fine how-do-you-do. "And just why is that, exactly?"

The hint of a smile was back, added to a wisp of smolder as Sayid replied, "Because I have been assured that Americans consider 'possession' to be nine-tenths of the law."

And damn if Sayid didn't delve into all the nooks and crannies of 'possession' like he was performing an ace tongue fuck in some high-class porno.

Even as Sawyer's cock swelled some more he felt his eyes narrow and his shoulders tense. He didn't like this unsettled feeling messin' up his lust. He wasn't sure what the hell kind of game the other man was playing. What the rules were, or the stakes. And that was Sawyer's signal to cash in his chips, even if he was beating a hasty retreat for the second time that day. "Well, thanks for the four-one-one," he drawled as he straightened and moved to leave.

Sayid's voice followed him. "I have decided a change of tactics is in order."

Sawyer turned around. "Wanna clue me in, Mohammed?" He settled back against the tree, still not sure what he was in for. But perversely kinda pleased to see a quicksilver flash of uncertainty cross the other man's face.

He suddenly wished he'd found a deck of cards on Craphole Island. He'd clean up big time playin' this patsy. Super-Stoic Ex-Soldier, his ass.

Especially if it was strip poker. Yessiree. He'd've had this Desert Ken Doll down to his civvies in no time flat.

Finally Sayid came back from La-La Land and got around to answering. "I miscalculated with you, Sawyer."

Sayid paused to lean a hip against the frame. "I had forgotten...the man who taught me about---" Full lips quirked and a wry glance slid Sawyer's way as Sayid continued, "Cock-sucking and ass-fucking---warned me there were only three reasons men ever bothered to fuck each other. And that if you indulged in two of them, there was a strong likelihood you would end up being fucked over for your trouble, as well."

Looked like someone had been expanding their vocabulary. Damn, that accent really was made for porn. Or phone sex. Too bad that dirty mouth wasn't wrapped around Sawyer's dick. Snorting at the image, Sawyer got with the program. "So do I gotta play twenty questions here, or're you gonna stop fuckin' around and cut to the chase?"

Ah, there was the glare. Now see, that didn't take long at all.

Of course, Mohammed took a deep breath and quenched his temper like throwing the last cold swig of coffee on a campfire. But Sawyer could still hear the hiss and sizzle as Sayid continued, "In English, the reasons translate to three Rs."

Sawyer laughed his disbelief. "What, reading, writing, and 'rithmetic? Who sold you that load of camel shit, Omar?"

Before he could blink, he had a hand wrapped around his throat, his legs kicked open and the full weight of one pissed-off Iraqi pressing into him. Mmm-hmmm...pushing extra hard against his cock, so the bite of his zipper added just the right kick of pain to the pleasure. "You were sayin'?" Sawyer drawled.

Loved the confused blink before furious brown eyes narrowed. Loved even more how frustration sharpened the edges of Sayid's oh-so-precise recitation. "Revenge---the original reason I would have confronted you---and recompense---the reason you came out here today---are to be avoided. Sex for such base motives is unworthy of men."

"Well, I don't know 'bout that, sounds like it could be kinda fun to me." Sawyer tried to roll his hips, seeking sweet friction, but found he had no room to maneuver. With a frustrated grunt he decided to go with the flow, spreading his legs a little more, slinging his arms over Sayid's shoulders, wrists dangling. "So what's the third R? Ritz crackers?"

A snort accompanied another quick shift in Sayid's mood, as the hand around Sawyer's neck went from squeezing to stroking.

Sawyer's eyes almost crossed with pleasure as the buff bod between his legs did something between a thrust and a shimmy that hit all his hot spots in one lazy kind of wave. He let himself slide down a few inches so their bodies would line up just right if Sayid took it into his head to do that again.

But Sawyer was disappointed. The other man just kept leaning against him, their bellies and chests brushing each time either one breathed. Then he felt Sayid back off a smidge, taking his own weight, free hand sliding under Sawyer's shirt to run the tips of his fingers inside the waistband of Sawyer's jeans. "The word you are looking for, Sawyer, is 'reciprocity'."

Sawyer shivered at the brush of beard against his cheek as Sayid moved in again to murmur in his ear, "Men should only come together when there is a bond between them too strong to deny."

Then Sayid stepped away completely, dark eyes showing some impressive mix of annoyed, exasperated, horny, rueful, and amused. "Or, as is likely in our case, they just want to fuck each other so badly it becomes worth the risk." He shrugged. "Either way, truthfulness is paramount."

Sawyer couldn't've held back the smirk if he'd tried. Which he didn't. "'Honesty is the best policy'? What, Aladdin, you camel jockeys are so hard up you're ripping off Ben Franklin now?"

He didn't get a glare this time, or an answer. Sayid just dropped the lashes on those bedroom eyes to half-mast and gave Sawyer the once-over, lingering on the now *very* tight crotch of Sawyer's jeans.

And even though Sawyer's cock was now screamin' to be creamin', he took a moment to figure out exactly what the deal was. Sometimes the Iraqi didn't translate so well, even if he did speak irritatingly perfect English.

"So let me get this straight," Sawyer said as he put his own spin on the come-hither gaze, which was a get-your-ass-over-here-so-I-can-fuck-you-right-now look that had done the trick since he'd been sweet baby-faced James at 15, "if I asked you to strip down right here right now so we could bump uglies on the jungle floor---no strings, no ropes, no chains---what would you do?"

Sayid's chin tilted just a bit. "I would say yes."

Sawyer knew in that instant he was going to call the bluff. Not just because he was horny as all get-out, or wanted another cruise on the SS Sayid, or even because he needed proof the people he fucked actually wanted him back.

Nah, it all came down to a pissing contest. 'Cause the last look Sayid gave him was pure I-bet-you-ain't-really-got-the-stones-for-this challenge, and Sawyer just couldn't resist a dare.

So he gave his best shark-sharp smile and spread his hands and said, "Well, I'm askin'." And made sure his expression was a ballsy so-what're-you-gonna-do-about-*that*-smartass right back.

Turned out Sayid wasn't bluffing. With another quick glance around, he pulled off his shirt and draped it over the frame.

And yeah, sweaty looked good on Sayid. He stood glistening and relaxed, hands in his pockets, looking like he was ready to wait all day.

Wait for Sawyer to make a move, of course. And Sawyer was planning to, but he got distracted by a quick glimpse of the cuts on the other man's side. The slashes were healing well enough, but it looked an awful lot like Omar'd gotten on the wrong side of one of the resident polar bears.

Or a pissed-off tomcat. Which, in a way, he had.

Sawyer thought maybe it was kinda perverted to get all puffed-up about seeing his marks. But hell, he still had his own souvenir of their first steel-edged samba, so it was all good. 'Reciprocity' up the wazoo.

He had his own shirt tossed to the ground by now, and he pushed off his shoes before crossing his arms. "Your turn, Abdul."

With just a hint of a flush the Iraqi shucked the rest of his duds. And he was lean and hard and honey-brown all over.

Dusky cock bobbing like porno poetry in motion, Sayid strolled over to Sawyer and slid both hands into the waistband of Sawyer's jeans this time.

"Careful with the goods," Sawyer muttered as he felt the zipper sliding down, the metal teeth nipping at his cock as it lifted free. Funny how Sayid was the ex-soldier but *he* was the one goin' commando.

He felt his jeans drop and stepped out of them without looking down. Just grabbed himself a handful of wild black hair and that clawmarked hip and dove in for the kill.

Into a clash of teeth and tongues and open mouths, all heat and wet and the burn of beards.

No pretty little kisses here, just some kind of alpha-male swallowing each other down and comin' back for extra helpings. And damn, it was slick and hot and fun as hell not havin' to worry about some little filly squawking and squalling he was too rough 'cause lips caught on teeth with the sudden taste of blood.

Sawyer grunted as hands landed low on his back and jerked him forward so his cock slid against a taut belly. Fingers spread on his asscheeks like they were getting the lay of the land for future travels. And shit, were they ever thorough.

He pulled on dark curls, making Sayid arch his neck so Sawyer could do some exploring of his own. He sucked mouthful after mouthful of salty skin, teeth marking his trail.

Sawyer didn't quite recollect when or how they hit the ground. He just knew that suddenly the smell of their rut was mixed with loam and wood, and he didn't care about the bugs or the leaves or the splinters or the dirt because he felt so damn fine. Grinding against hard muscles and soft skin with the prickle of hair in all the right places rubbing against him, legs and arms a hopeless tangle as they grunted and thrust and rolled.

And then he was on his back and groaning deep because Sayid's mouth was open on his chest, teeth grazing their way to pulling on one nipple, then the other. Nails biting into his shoulders where the other man clutched him for leverage. His cock nestled close to its darker twin, hot and full and pounding and slippery with precum.

So Sawyer bucked up, his fingers tracing the flow of muscles down Sayid's back onto that mighty fine ass. Sliding one hand lower still to grab a bronze thigh and haul it across his own hip.

He might have ended up on the bottom, but he wasn't gonna be the only one spreading his legs for this fuck.

And his message must've been loud and clear, 'cause Sayid lifted his head up for a smirk before sliding a hand into Sawyer's hair to hold him still as Sayid leaned in to shove his tongue back into Sawyer's mouth.

Which Sawyer obligingly opened wider on another moan as Sayid did that goddamn hot-as-hell move that was even better with no clothes in the way. And kept doing it.

Sawyer's eyes tried to roll into the back of his head as he got the ride of his life. Sayid was making those low sounds in his throat, something between a purr and a growl that vibrated into Sawyer's own skin and made him push harder to meet each thrust.

And after fuck knew how long, Sayid shuddered with a quiet groan and Sawyer felt cum splash onto his own belly and groin, hot and slick.

Sawyer broke the liplock and set his mouth where Sayid's neck joined his left shoulder, Sawyer's teeth clenching as he muffled his own shouts against sweat-salty skin. He held Sayid's hips tight against him as he pushed up, up, until the dam broke and his release surged through him to coat Sayid's skin and his own.

He collapsed onto the ground and Sayid just did a kind of boneless oozing over him like syrup poured over hotcakes. They stayed stuck together for a while, panting as the sweat and semen cooled.

Then Sayid rolled off him with a grunt and sat up, reaching for his boxers. Sawyer just gave him the skunk eye for being in such an all-fired hurry, 'til he figured out Abdul was just givin' himself a wipedown before he got too crusty.

Sawyer cocked a surprised eyebrow when he got the same courtesy, Sayid matter-of-factly giving him a quick rubdown like they'd been getting each other off since always.

Hell, he could get used to this. He put his hands behind his head and stretched, just feelin' the buzz and savoring the slight stings and aches that came part and parcel with the best sex. "So, how 'bout another round of jungle jack-off sometime?"

Sayid gave him a sultry-sly, sleepy-eyed glance. "Perhaps...under the right circumstances."

"Let me guess, 'reciprocity' is the magic word." Sawyer lowered his arms and pushed himself onto his elbows. Watched Sayid turn to chuck the soiled cloth near the rest of his clothes. "So...did your Obi-Wan Shish Kabobi teach you that sweet little shimmy?"

Sayid hadn't turned around, so Sawyer couldn't see his expression. But it didn't matter, since it'd take a blind man to miss the sudden stiffening of the Iraqi's back. Eventually Sayid answered, "No. And I would prefer not to discuss it."

Oooh, this was interesting. "I'm kinda surprised. After all, somebody who goes to all the trouble of makin' up rules for sucking and fucking sounds like one of them soulful swami types. Don't tell me he gave you the heave-ho out in Sand Land."

Hmph. Didn't figure those muscles could tense up any tighter. Now it looked like it'd take a steamroller to smooth Sayid out again. Soldier Boy really should learn how to relax.

"No." Sayid turned a little so Sawyer could see his profile, and just a glimpse of the glare. "Sawyer, you are ruining this. Stop now."

Fuck that. Sawyer sat up all the way to try to see more of the other man's face. He smirked, sensing a serious chink in Abdul's armor. "What, you told him to go fuck a camel 'cause he forgot his own half-assed rules about your precious three Rs?"

This time Sayid took so long with an answer Sawyer started to feel a little antsy. In a way that held just a mite of anxiety in it. Maybe this hadn't been such a bright idea.

Sawyer couldn't stop the shiver at the sudden coldness in the dark gaze that finally turned full on him. Well shit, wasn't *that* expression one hell of a mood-killer. He almost couldn't believe they'd been rolling around in the dirt rubbing all over each other not five minutes ago. Fuck, he'd almost forgotten this guy once made people scream for a living. And not in a good way.

Sayid's voice got that extra-sharp edge to it as he replied, "No. When I was still an interrogator in the Republican Guard, he came upon me trying to help a prisoner---a woman whom I had known in childhood---escape. So I shot and killed him."

That thousand-yard stare held Sawyer pinned to the dirt better than tent stakes as Sayid said, "His name was Omar. I did not appreciate you associating him with 'camel shit' earlier. And I would recommend you not use that particular name again when you choose to forget my own."

"So what's in it for me?" Sawyer drawled, trying to find his footing as the situation shifted again. He knew he was skippin' through the briar patch here, still pushing when Sayid had gone all desert danger man, but he couldn't resist. Just plain didn't want to. "You know, for 'reciprocity' and all."

"You will get to keep breathing, as I will be less likely to lose my temper and decide to wring your pretty neck," Sayid shot back as his hands curled into fists.

The Iraqi stood up abruptly and moved to his clothes. "This was a mistake. It is obvious provoking me gives you more pleasure than any other activity, and I seem unable to resist rising to the bait." He shook his head. "Under the circumstances, it seems pointless to consider any further...encounters of this nature."

Sawyer's eyes narrowed. He was gettin' that uneasy feeling again. Wasn't sure how much of it was because that precise little speech was just a fancied-up brush-off. He preferred to be the one handing out those. And it got his back up 'cause the thought of dumping the sheik hadn't even crossed his mind.

Which should've warned him there was somethin' weird going on, and he didn't mean the freakin' jungle of mystery.

And another thing: He'd learned more about Sayid in the last half-hour than he had in the whole time they'd been on Craphole Island. Since when did Sayid go all A&E Biography? "You're an awfully chatty Cathy today. A suspicious sorta fella'd wonder why you're suddenly tossing out all your secrets like they were moon pies at Mardi Gras."

"It is a calculated risk." Sayid shook out his trousers, keeping his gaze elsewhere, face and tone bland. "If I confirm my weaknesses, I acknowledge them, and I will not be surprised if you again try to use them against me."

And didn't *that* put the final kibosh on Sawyer's afterglow good mood. Somehow all the air got sucked out of their little patch of jungle paradise. Sawyer could feel his lips stretching into a snarl. The implied insult on top of running-hot-and-cold-post-coital-prick-tease Sayid had definitely got him riled now. "And I suppose I should thank you kindly for saying 'if' and not 'when', huh?"

Sayid didn't respond, just slipped back into his pants and shoes, balled up the soiled boxers and shoved them into a pocket. Pulled on his shirt and then picked up the axe and slung it over his shoulder, moving to leave without a glance back.

And despite Sawyer's best intentions not to give a flying fuck, that goddamn silent treatment got to him, crawling up his spine and tightening his eyes and clenching his hands. But why the hell should it matter that some hot-looking piece of ass sweet-talked him one minute and cold-cocked him the next? It wasn't like it'd never happened before.

But Sawyer had actually been stupid enough to think Sayid was on the up-and-up since that last time in the jungle. That there was something...ah fuck, he didn't even know what kinda pipe he'd been smokin' to start thinking that way. But it made him mad as hell just the same. Least that's the story he was sticking with.

"Tell me something, was this all just some kinda mind fuck for you, *Omar*?" Sawyer snapped.

Then Sawyer got that dreaded back-of-the-neck prickle as Sayid froze, then slowly turned back. He looked Sawyer straight in the eye and answered, "No." Then the Great Stone Face broke again but this time to confused, as if Sayid was still trying to figure out himself what the hell happened to turn their spot of Afternoon Delight to such a pile of horseshit. "No, this was not part of my plan..." Humorless twist of the lips "As if I even had a plan."

"Yeah, well, newsflash: you're not the only one winging it here." If Sawyer'd taken even a second to think about it, he'd've put the brakes on *that* before it flew out of his mouth. Ah, fuck it. "So is that any goddamn reason to go crashing the whole 747?"  
It was almost worth it to watch Sayid go all startled. You could practically see the guinea pig inside that curly black head put down his coffee and get back on his little wheel. "Are you attempting to persuade me to try this again, Sawyer?"

Sawyer shrugged. "Beats spankin' the monkey yourself." He ran a hand through his hair, then glanced over to see the other man still starin' at him. And Sawyer figured it had nothing to do with him still being sprawled bare-assed and sticky on the ground. "Shit, Sayid, what the hell do you expect?"

"Honestly? I do not think I know anymore." Sayid's brows drew together in consideration. "I suppose I only expect you to be yourself, Sawyer." His features softened, ever so slightly. "But the longer I know you, the less I understand what that means."

Sawyer waited until Sayid had moved out of earshot before muttering, "Well fuck if I know, either."

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are welcomed with great joy and constructive criticism is treasured as a rare gift.


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